Nurture
by A Terrible Person
Summary: Cyrus really hates talking about his mom and dad. Cynthia really doesn't get this.


**Just a quick note, this is based on the theory that Cyrus and Cynthia were bros at one point.**

**I am angering my boyfriend so much right now.  
**

---

Grey eyes scanned the sleeping town. No lights were on, and the place was silent besides for the rustling of wind through the nearby grass.

She chalked this up to the fact that most of Celestic Town was elderly and needing rest.

But there was one thing that unsettled her. Maybe ten feet in front of her was a man in a fedora and overcoat, just standing there, jacket occasionally billowing whenever there was a particularly strong breeze.

Then again, she was just standing there and observing the unsettling man. She was pretty creepy herself from an outsider's perspective. After about ten minutes of person watching, she decided to take action. As soon as she lifted her foot, though, the man turned around.

She was terrible at timing.

And he just stood and stared for a second, and she did the same, like a Stantler caught in the headlights. But dammit, she knew those eyes. Those cold, blue eyes, back when they were just melancholy and not so heartless and... Empty.

And he knew those eyes back when they were filled with the reflection of old myths and shining with dreams that hadn't come true yet.

"Cynthia." He said eventually, voice scratchy. He proceeded to walk past her nonchalantly. "Have a good night." He said, mimicking the way a normal person would say it to an old friend, punctuated by him coughing into his hand. She grabbed his sleeve and it surprised him so much that he almost tumbled over. "Wait. What are you doing here?"

He steadied himself and stood up straight. "Just looking. I don't understand how I'm not allowed to look."

"You are. I mean, wait, no. You're not just visiting, are you?" She said, letting go of his arm. "You've got a reason for being here besides just sightseeing.

He shook his head. "Honestly, Cynthia, you're much too suspicious. I could ask you the same question and you'd give the same answer. I'm just revisiting the past, and it seems you are, too."

"It's a shame you ran away a week before school started again, Cyrus. We could've used you on the debate team in Highschool." Cynthia snipped back, crossing her arms. Something flared in his eyes for a split second, but then it disappeared soon as she caught it.

"You know damn well I didn't run away." He growled. Fingers tightened the belt on his overcoat rather huffily, and she was sure she cracked something in him, but he turned back to soulless in a split second. "I left. I wasn't welcome there, so I left."

Eyes gazed over him. "You know, Cyrus, I thought the same thing for the longest time... But I stayed, and grandmother really did love me. She's just... Oldfashioned." She shifted her feet. It was still embarrassing to talk about the grandmother that didn't let her wear skirts that didn't go down to her ankles until she moved out.

"You don't get it." He said, voice cracking just a tad. "They didn't love me. They never did. They just loved my talent."

"Cyrus," She started, "Your parents---"

"We are not discussing them, Cynthia. You never got it. You never did." He clenched his fists, but quickly unclenched them. "You had a home and a family and... You had love. And you know what I had?"

She knew better than to answer.

"I had a bedroom to myself and cold steel. Some tools. An old radio that always had channels where people were requesting songs for loved ones." He was shaking now. She set something off and now perfectly composed Cyrus was struggling to keep himself from crying, or hitting her, or worse. "I'm glad I left. They didn't need me. They just needed each other and all the money they exploited from their son..."

What do you say to a broken man who locked away his feelings a long time ago?

You don't say a thing. You just hug them.

No words came from Cynthia, and Cyrus swayed on his heels when she grabbed him. But he just stood there and shook, occasionally coughing.

"Let go of me." He said eventually, another little gust of wind blowing through the trees. She just made a noise of protest, head rested on his chest and _she was warm, Gods, why was she so warm_?

"No, no... You don't..." He didn't want to end that statement with "Get it". The phrase had been exhausted and needed rest now. "I've got a cold. And you used to get so sick so easily, I don't want to take the chance." He didn't want a cold to finish her off. Yes, that was why. She looked up, positive that it was a lie. "No, no, it's true. Just because I'm trying to stay as far away from human as possible doesn't mean my immune system doesn't have it's weaknesses." He'd have to fix that.

"Well... I'm nearby to Grandma... And she always took care of me whenever I had a cold." She couldn't help but wonder what Cyrus did when he had a cold as a child. He probably just made some instant ramen and swallowed the broth down with some allergy pills. The thought was both sad and adorable.

He put his hands on her shoulders and pried her off quite easily. "I have to go." His face was back to his stone-cold facade, and he began to walk quite briskly away from the town. He suddenly stopped, hands behind his back. "I apologize for anything that might happen to you or anything to care about. I refuse to hurt you unless provoked... And even then, it will take a lot of provoking."

She paused and stared at his back. "Is that your way of saying 'I care about you?'"

He laughed, short, harsh, and like he hadn't laughed in years, which was probably the truth."You were always so optimistic, Cyn." The old nickname slipped out on accident, and he chided himself for it mentally.

She was happy as all hell that he said it, of course. He tilted his hat. "Goodnight, Cyn."

She smiled and nodded. "Goodnight, Cy."

---

**Wrote this with a combination of Lady GaGa playing in the background and while reading a... Rather hardcore rapefic concerning these two.**

**... Shut up, I know.  
**


End file.
